


be nice to the older boy

by starrelia (orphan_account)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Blood and Violence, Brutal Murder, Brutality, Dark, Disjointed, Emetophobia, Light Masochism, M/M, Murder, Obsession, One-Sided Attraction, Out of Character, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Piss, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 09:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12296439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/starrelia
Summary: He changes; not so gradually, perhaps, but Genji does change. Gone are his carefree days where he is simply a lazy, talented man who wastes his time bar hopping with friends; the moment a brawl goes wrong and a dead body is at his feet, something in him changes. The dragons awaken, finally, for him and begin to snap and jeer, and it is then that Genji's personality begins to foul and become a horrible, monstrous thing.Such a shame that such a bright, young man has changed so drastically.





	be nice to the older boy

**Author's Note:**

> I don't wanna wait anymore; I'm tired of looking for answers! Take me someplace where there's music and there's laughter. I don't know if I'm scared of dying, but I'm scared of living too fast, too slow.

_Be nice to the older boy._

Sweat soaks his hair, makes it stick to his brow and the sides of his face. Blood drips from his fists, some on his mouth, and he gasps and pants as he tries to get air back into his lungs desperately.  The adrenaline of it all is starting to fade away, yet Genji still lets rambunctious laughter escape him at what has transpired. His hands relax from fists only to curl back into them, tighter, and his arms shake; his chest rises up and down rapidly with each gasping pant that escapes him.

There is a pained gasp right at his feet, by his left, and Genji’s foot lifts up to slam down hard onto the bared throat of the man lying on the ground. There is a satisfying crunch that echoes out from the slamming of his foot onto the bone, his boot sinking in deeper and harder until the gurgling gasps that the man is letting free comes to a final, wet cough as blood clogs his throat.

Bloody and beaten yet Genji is almost pristine looking in comparison to the guy beneath. There is some specks of blood on his shirt, staining the only white part on his chest, and he can’t help but laugh loudly. There is no one else around their alleyway, no one that will come investigating, and even if they do he can just call in on his family to take care of whoever that wants to know, whoever has seen and tries to tell the police in Hanamura.

He swallows down a gasp that wants to escape and ends up choking on it, his hand coming down onto his chest. The adrenaline is finally fading ‘way, and Genji sputters as he ties to catch his breath and stop from choking and dying embarrassingly on his own saliva. He doubles over, hands on his knees, as he coughs up phlegm.

Mucus slides out of his nose, mixing in with the blood, as he is trying to get a grip of himself and he stares down at the corpse at his feet and briefly wonders if he is pushing it too far with the idea that springs up to mind… The man is dead, he reminds himself. There is no need to worry about it, no need, he convinces himself.

He straightens up once his cough fit is over and his hands scramble at the buttons and zipper of his jeans, cock being pulled free from his boxers and he holds himself over the guy’s body as urine starts to stream out. One hand rests itself on the wall next to him while the other positions his dick so that he doesn’t make a mess… though, there really is no need to be so careful when he is in a dirty alleyway, after all.

It isn’t a long stream, and his urine is relatively light yellow and not the normal deep it is from his unhealthy drinking habits [not of the alcoholic kind, mind you]. He tucks himself back in, wipes his hands on the part of the guy’s clothes that aren’t soaked in Genji’s piss, and he backs away and leaves the alleyway that his little brawl has happened in.

When he checks the time he notes that it is almost three in the morning; Hanzo is probably asleep by now, always is at two-thirty in the morning, and Genji won’t be getting any shit for the horrible state he looks like he is in. Clothes ruffled, hair a mess, blood on his clothes… sweat making his hair stick to his forehead and mucus dripping down his face.

He doesn’t look handsome, but he still looks pretty despite his ugly state and Genji laughs. He runs his hands through his hair and then flinches when he realises how dirty they must be, and he pushes himself away from the vanity in his room and instead heads over to the bathroom to take a quick bath and wash up.

Genji doubts he is going to be able to sleep for a long time, anyway. He is still far too excited to even think about anything else but the man he has killed today. He rubs his arms up and down once he is dressed, sitting down on his futon with his head tilting back and the urge to laugh gnawing at his chest.

He is sixteen years old when he kills his first man.

 

 

 

The morning after is messy. Hanzo is up early, way too early, and Genji wakes up two hours after just to be scolded by him and he waves it all off. He scratches the back of his neck, listens to Hanzo’s words and waves off whatever worried and agitated words that escape his brother’s lips. He doesn’t particularly care, and Hanzo seems to notice this when he finally quiets down.

At least he doesn’t smell like shit so Hanzo can’t really yell and argue with him about that. He looks at his brother with half-lidded eyes, as if he is about to fall asleep, and Hanzo glares at him before he grabs at the newspaper, rolls it up, and thwacks Genji hard on the head with it. “I do not care how late you have slept.” He says, his words too formal and old sounding. “But you and I have lessons today, and I do not want our instructor to get angry at you again.”

There is a silence that stretches over them both; Hanzo doesn’t know what to say after all that, and Genji is too busy sniffling noisily and rubbing at his nose to really care. He lets his feet on the dinner table and Hanzo stiffens up but doesn’t say anything to cause another argument. “Where were you last night?” Hanzo finally asks, his voice a little uncomfortable, and Genji just shrugs as he picks at his ear. “The guards said you did not return until three in the morning.”

Ah, damn it. He has forgotten about the nightshift guards, huh? Genji shrugs, rubs at the back of his head, and Hanzo shifts about a little. He twirls one long strand of hair on his finger, eyes shifting away while Genji starts readjust his position so that he is sitting properly. “I was at a club.” He lies easily and Hanzo looks at him and eyes him up and down.

His lips curl downwards. The signature frown his brother always seems to have makes it return. He runs his hand through his greasy looking hair and winces, and Genji just gives him a shit-eating grin when he realises his older brother has neglected his hygiene once more. “You’re looking filthy, anija.” Genji practically sings out. “How do you expect me to take you seriously when you’re like a pig?”

Hanzo glares at him, his face going red with rage and Genji giggles. “Do _not_ talk to me that way.” Hanzo spits out, but there is clear shame written on his face when he leans back and takes in Genji’s cleaner looking appearance. His hair is finely styled; he smells fresh, of cherries and coconut, and he looks ready to take on the world.

And yet, Hanzo sits before him; his hair greasy, his eyes tired. His body reeking of sweat. He has to stand up and make his leave from the table when Genji just continues to grin at him something mischievous, lips parting to bring to light the filthy state that Hanzo is in right now. He watches as Hanzo walks past him, his head bowing down and his hair heavy curtains that shield him ‘way from Genji’s gaze.

Still he wonders what it must be like to be so busy that you can’t even bring yourself to shower on time every day. Genji’s eyes crinkle up in amusement, his wide grin turning into that of a knowing, smug smirk, and he watches Hanzo’s back retreat as he – no doubt – is going off to shower so that he doesn’t look as disgusting.

Especially when their instructor is waiting for them. As Hanzo rushes into his shower, Genji’s thoughts wander off; if Hanzo does know that Genji has had his first kill already, way earlier than he did, then what will he do? At the age of eighteen Hanzo has to do his first kill; an execution in front of everyone, a dear friend who at the time has been deemed a traitor, and he has to slice his head clean off.

In front of their father. In front of their mother. The sword shakes in his brother’s grip as he lets it slide, slickly, easily, through the neck of the man who has wronged their clan. Only a year ago, Hanzo has killed his first man ever and Genji remembers, vividly, how Hanzo did nothing but vomit for hours after the execution.

It is one thing to become used to the murders that others commit around you, Genji thinks, but another thing to do it yourself. For Hanzo it is a nauseating experience that makes their mother punish him until he learns better than to be nervous by the prospect. She drags him by his hair, not caring that there is bits of vomit on Hanzo’s chest and on his hair, and forces him to kneel while she whips his back over and over.

But now their mother is dead, and there is no one to congratulate or punish Genji depending on the circumstances. What will his father think, Genji wonders, when the piss-stained and rotting body is brought up to the news, and when he happily admits to the murder in front of everyone.

* * *

Two months after his first murder and everything is going as it should be. He hasn’t been getting the opportunity to kill someone else; not yet, at least. Everything is the same as it always has been; he lazes around in his training outfit, wanting nothing more than to strip it off and to go outside with his friends. Go to some clubs with his fake ID and kiss some other underage asshole to make a point.

Older men and women grind against each other in the stiflingly hot club; younger ones flock together and make-out with each other. The club smells like artificial colours and reeks of sour sweat, hanging over everyone like a horrific mist and Genji misses it. He idles up in a cherry tree, modified to bloom all year ‘round, and he drowns in the sickly sweet stench.

He watches Hanzo from afar; they slap the back of his neck with a small whip, drag it down his already scarred back, and his brother stays stiffly still. He doesn’t move, doesn’t react even as they begin to draw a blade down his back to make a long, thin cut along his spine. The flimsy clothes he is wearing tears easily, being used only to test his pain threshold… and Genji can’t help but feel off; something clawing at his chest, wanting. Wrong.

A part of him itches to be the one to drag the blade down his brother’s back and vomit rises up to his mouth in thick chunks and he has to forcefully swallow it down alongside the anxiety at the thought. For a moment or so, the dragons that have yet to fully awaken start to stir up inside of him. They snap and gnash their teeth, something carnal rising.

He curls over and throws up on the dirt around the cherry tree; dark thick green with chunks of reds and yellows escaping him and he coughs harshly. A part of him is fully aware as to why it is that his brother is being treated that way; a test of his endurance, to see how long he can stand the barest of pains that seem negligible only to grow, and to punish Hanzo for not wrangling in Genji as much as he needs to.

The part of him, small and forgettable, stirs and begs with him with a fleeting, dying voice to think of his brother for once. To think of Hanzo and what he must go through… but then the dragons flare again, drowning away the voice that dissents. They snap and bite and a sick, queasiness rises up in his belly again and Genji vomits.

A thinner, smaller portion of puke escapes him in coughing wheezes. The dirt at the bottom of the cherry tree looks disgusting, and his training outfit has been stained with his own puke; Genji gasps and flinches at the disgustingly bitter, vile taste in his mouth. He makes his way down, careful not to step in his own bile, and leaves to throw the clothes to the maidservants to clean and the vomit to the manservants to take care of.

How will the elders react to knowing that Genji has killed before he is meant to? All those born from the Shimada clan must at some point execute someone at the tender age of eighteen; something that his great-great grandfather has implemented it as if to spare the ‘innocence’ of the young Yakuza. He wants to laugh. Instead, his stomach lurches because all he can remember is watching Hanzo and the thought of skinning and carving him out.

* * *

Five months have passed since he has committed his first murder. His skin itches; like thousands of cockroaches crawling under the thin layer of his skin and dragging their hairy, sharp legs across his insides. His belly squirms and he feels an ache settle up inside his heart, heavy and mournful almost; he resents the boredom that settles in at the back of his mind.

Not even going into the clubs are fun. At least he gets to dress however he wants; mesh on his body, leather clinging to his legs and crotch. Muscles showing off so that someone gets interested; always someone out there who fetishizes muscular, strong men. Sometimes older men hit on him, sometimes older women; girls and boys his age come along, with their fake IDs and faker smiles, and he busies himself more with the people his age this time.

He finds a nice girl to hang out with; long hair, sleek. Pretty. Her face sporting a pretty pink blush as Genji decides to give her his attention. He smiles at her and she nervously titters about, trying to keep up with him while giving off an innocent, cute air about her. Genji bites down on his lower lip, lets his hand curl into a tight fist on the bar counter.

She is so very pretty. It is hypnotising how pretty she is. The bored, irate itch from before returns tenfold; all he can think about is how pretty she is. He doesn’t know why his mind is suddenly hyper focusing on her prettiness; it just echoes in his head. _Pretty. Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty._

Over and over it echoes in his head; she is so cute. An adorable thing that flushes underneath his attention and admits she has never been with a man before. Always women. “But you just looked so… so… I don’t know! You looked so _different…_ you caught my eye.” She says finally, the first confident thing she has said in a while.

He orders them a few drinks and tries to drown whatever thoughts that are rising up with the alcohol. The repetition in his head doesn’t calm down and the scratching, the spider-crawl of irritation never once leaves his veins. The alcohol doesn’t seem to be working; his focus isn’t slipping away. Excitement doesn’t make itself known; restraint, however, has long since faded. “I wanna kiss you.” He says bluntly and she looks up at him with brief surprise before her expression melts away into something else.

Something recognisable and he knows what to do. Stands up on surprisingly firm legs and grabs her hand and yanks her away; drags her back outside where no one else will see them. A dark alleyway that shadows over them both. He has caught her eye, a part of him echoes. He has caught her eye. Pretty. He has caught her eye.

It doesn’t take him long to realise that it is the dragons attempting to finally communicate with him; didn’t Hanzo say something like this will happen? The dragons will finally speak to them with full sentences and elderly voices; wise beyond their years? Something like that. But their words make him fidget, make him impatient and irrational.

Her eyes are gorgeous. Her entire face is pretty. Genji is lucky this night; she looks so very pretty. Her long hair cascades over her shoulders, they feel like silk when he decides to just stroke her hair, and her lips are so small yet so soft as Genji kisses her. Pretty. Every single bit of her is just like-

He doesn’t know what happens. One moment he is getting ready to fuck her against the wall, to grab at her hair and yank it back so she can’t bite back her moans and then the next he has twisted her head and snapped her neck. Her body is limp on the floor and Genji stares at it, uncomprehending, on what has happened.

Instead of moving, leaving the body for the police to find his impulsive action, Genji briefly falls into a squat and he presses his thumb to the corner of her eye. He tries to dig his finger in, holds her eyelids open, and then immediately yanks his hand back when her eye squirts out fluid from how hard he is pushing down on it. He stands up, his legs finally shaky and his gaze is uncomprehending still, and Genji backs up slowly.

Despite what he has done, Genji does not run. He does not flee. He simply makes his way back home, with messy hair and alcohol breath, and Hanzo is awake this time to look down at him with disappointment and Genji just looks away and ignores him as best he can when the lecture starts rolling in.

Nothing on his person gives away the fact that he has murdered another person. He stumbles away to the bathroom and vomits, his body curling over the toilet, and he shakes and trembles. The irritation from the beginning of his day is gone; his ache satisfied for once. He doesn’t want to peel his own skin off anymore just to get rid of the cockroaches that hang under there.

The second person he has ever killed. Will the clan ever realise? Maybe he needs to be the one to tell them. Or maybe he can just keep quiet about it? He can keep quiet. The dragons inside of him purr in agreement to that idea; if they know, they will stop him. They will get mad. This isn’t how a Shimada is supposed to be represented, they will say as they act all noble despite being criminals. Despite them selling slaves and drugs; encouraging addictions and ownership of other human beings. Business is business.

This isn’t how the Shimada clan is supposed to be. Brutish and wild. Genji wants to-

* * *

A year. It has been exactly a year since he has killed his first person, and then seven after the second. The time flies by so quickly, and Genji cannot remember a single thing that has happened in the past few months that are as notable as the murders. His brother is being treated worse and worse; he comes to Genji in the mornings with heavy shadows under his eyes and his back heavier with the burdens.

Hanzo doesn’t look good anymore; whatever youthful vigor that he has once had has all but evaporated into nothing but memories. His hair is unkempt, sharp at the end, and Hanzo always seems so very disorderly whenever Genji sees him. “You going to get a haircut?” he asks him one morning, during those seven months, and Hanzo stops for a moment.

For a moment nothing seems to register to him before his eyes widen and he rubs at them afterwards. “Yes.” He says, words as stiff as his posture once he realises Genji is there. “Tomorrow morning, before training. I have a new instructor and I cannot disappoint them.” He tilts his head and looks Hanzo’s state up and down, and a smile curls his lips before he can even really stop himself.

Messy. His hair has been brushed but it is far too long; it will be a hassle in training. The instructors are going to get so very agitated with Hanzo’s hair. His hair is too shiny and Hanzo scratches it far too often; scratches his arms, his hair, and shifts agitatedly. “I think you’ll look beautiful with short hair, anija.” Genji tells him and Hanzo sneers at him.

“Do not mock me.” Hanzo spits out. “I do not want my hair to be as short as yours.” Genji tilts his head to the side, watches the discomfort gather on his brother’s person; not from Genji’s words, no, but from the simple fact that Hanzo is far too tired and busy every day to consistently shower. He looks dirty.

It looks wonderful on him. His thoughts race back to the time he has spot Hanzo’s back being toyed with by the clan’s tests; wanting to push him other, wanting to give him more and more pain to ensure that he will be used to it and will never crumble under even the most severe of circumstances. Their petty revenge fetishes being framed as something beneficial and Genji has to keep himself from gagging.

The dragons immediately uncurl inside of him, as though summoned, and begin to hiss out demands. _Brother is pretty. Pretty pretty pretty._ They begin to chant, something vicious unfurling in their words, and Genji feels himself go green, his temperature shooting up through the roof, and there is an excess of saliva in his mouth.

He jolts up, causes the chair to screech back painfully loud against the floor, and he runs past a confused and sputtering Hanzo as Genji presses a hand to his own mouth. He runs and runs and makes it over to the nearest bathroom and immediately clings to the toilet. Curling over, his mouth falls open and he hacks and gags; thick globs of saliva are spat out and freely flowing from his tongue as Genji gurgles.

Clear and foul bile rises up and ends up being coughed out more than they are vomited. His mouth burns and the bitter taste sticks to his throat, clings even as he is forcing out more coughs and trying to vomit up all of the anxieties that the dragons are stirring inside of him. Their angry demands become sweet coos, asking of him the impossible.

He wants to be the one to crack Hanzo open; peel his skin off and play with whatever he exposes. Muscles. Tendons. Wants to drag his claws along the wonderful bones hidden away from his eyes. Underneath all that meat. Underneath all that…

“Genji?” Hanzo’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts and Genji turns his head to look over his shoulder to see him there, looking concerned even as his features are intense enough to make him look mad. “What happened? Do you require me to bring a doctor in?”

He tries to laugh, chokes on his saliva, and Hanzo is immediately behind him hitting his back and trying to help Genji spit out whatever it is that is stuck in his throat. “Wait here,” Hanzo says when Genji stays silent, “I will bring someone to take care of you.”

Instead of being allowed to leave, Genji lets his dirty hands grab at Hanzo’s kimono instead and he sinks his fingers deep into his clothes. “Don’t.” Genji huffs out. He cannot keep Hanzo here. He really cannot keep Hanzo here. The dragons shriek and migraines arise from the cacophony from the dragons in his head.

He bares his teeth as he hides inside of Hanzo’s chest, his grip getting painfully tight on his elbows and still he lets Genji hold onto him. Hugs him as best he can while Genji is sinking his claws into his arms and trembling and Hanzo murmurs any comforting words he can think up of.

There are scars that peek out from underneath Hanzo’s kimono; none from battle. None from training. Genji needs to push him away. He needs to get Hanzo far, far away from him. He needs to. He buries his face in Hanzo’s neck and feels the way he stiffens up against Genji, discomfort clearly settling in from how close he is getting.

But he doesn’t feel good. He doesn’t feel good. Hanzo should take care of him. He doesn’t feel _good._ “Genji,” Hanzo says, voice firm, “you need to brush your teeth and drink some water.” _What?_ “You cannot stay like this.” _I want to, you’re pretty. I want to, you’re pretty. You’re pretty._ “I need to bathe, and I have lessons to get to. I will tell father you are ill.” _Why is it always father? Take care of me._ “Whatever that has happened to you… tell me later. When you are feeling better.”

_Big brother is so pretty._

* * *

He wants to kill someone. Not out of pure frustration; not a vent of anything, no. All he wants to do is just kill someone. The restless of before is coming back full force; his words become slow drawls, gaze unfocused and his mind scattered. He goes to spar with Hanzo more often now; something about seeing his brother struggle to fight, sweating in his training clothes as Genji effortlessly keeps up with him…

[Seeing the anger boil over, seeing Hanzo try and hold back the quiet hatred he has for him… it is something special, something special indeed.]

… is a feeling that fulfils him in a way nothing else can. Not his pointless ventures to clubs, sleeping with people around or twice his age, or even the drinking and drugs can compare to the satisfaction that settles deep in the pit of his stomach when he gets to fight Hanzo and always be _better_ than him. Perhaps that is why Hanzo doesn’t try as hard as he needs to when it comes to keeping Genji in line.

Perhaps he does not want to be compared to the irresponsible younger brother; the brother who sleeps with whores and strangers, risking STDs, overdoses and alcohol poisoning just for fleeting pleasure, the brother who is a shame to the ‘noble’ family… Genji wonders what it feels like to know, secretly, that Hanzo is lesser than him yet to never tell the elders.

He wonders if Genji’s strength is a secret Hanzo harbours for his own personal, selfish reasons; or if he merely just wants to ‘protect’ Genji like their father does. He is ‘sheltered’ from the behind the scenes of the clan; people don’t tell him what the family is doing, not in detail anyway. They all know he is aware of their status as Yakuza.

Yet no one knows how deep his fingers are sank into the family business. He wonders how father will react when he realises his favourite son, the sheltered one, knows too much about the family. No one watches Genji, after all; except for his own big, pretty brother. Beautiful big brother, he thinks as he watches his proficiency with the sword.

Not as good as Genji as he the blade is struck from his hand and the wakizashi is pressed against Hanzo’s throat. Not the katana. Never the katana. He wants to sink the wakizashi in and see blood trail down it; wants to see it. Wants to see it. Wants the victory. Thinks of the pretty girl and useless asshole who are dead because of him.

Will Hanzo look as nice as the girl, or will he be ugly in death like the asshole? He backs away and lets the wakizashi slide back into place. Hanzo stands without his help and Genji looks at him, watches as he swallows down the self-deprecation and disappointment and gives him a smile. Or as close to one anyway. They must have a defective gene that makes all their smiles look like smirks, Genji thinks.

“A good spar, brother.” Hanzo says, his voice genuinely jovial even if Genji can sense the conflict behind those glossy eyes. He reaches out to brush imaginary dust off of Genji’s shoulders then moves away to grab his discarded katana and Genji watches him. His movements are a bit stilted; probably from aches that are now beginning to settle in, just like they are for Genji.

He is quiet and it is only when Hanzo is passing by him to leave does Genji say something. “You’ll never be my equal.” Genji says evenly and leaves during Hanzo’s stunned silence.

The betrayal and anger that war on his face, that he is able to catch sight of before Genji leaves to do whatever it is that he wishes to do, makes his stomach flip in excitement. The urge to murder comes back, held back barely during their entire spar and now even worse when the dragons realise that he has done nothing, really, to Hanzo other than ruin his pride even further.

* * *

He breaks into Hanzo’s room a few days later. He is busy with his studies and Genji is given free reign to do whatever he wants with his brother away. Busy, busy, busy, and he hasn’t bothered bringing Genji to study this time. Perhaps he is still hurt over what he has told him and Genji doesn’t mind it; his brother is leaving him alone. He isn’t asking him to go to training or studies with him.

Genji will understand and learn everything with one demonstration, anyway. There is no need for him to be there and have to be lectured on something so boring, so easy to grasp, when he can just learn it on his own. Hanzo’s room is plain and Genji isn’t surprised; not really, not that much. There are some of his figurines and toys from when he is younger sitting on shelves. Memories of better times, he bets Hanzo will say if anyone is to ever ask him…

… but then again, maybe that is what Genji will say. Hanzo will merely say that they are his toys from his youth and he can’t bring himself to let go, no matter how silly that notion is. Genji walks over to the shelf and reaches out to grab onto one of the pristine looking figurines; clean, almost looks new if it isn’t for some of the scratches and chips on it.

He remembers how much Hanzo used to be fond of this one figurine. He will play with it every day and always have it with him until he ends up growing up and putting it up and away. Feeling silly for even wanting it. But he keeps it around and Genji pets the plastic head of the figurine. Without even really thinking about it, he snaps the figurine in half.

The other toys and figurines follow suit. He breaks them all apart and lines them up on his shelves. He reaches for Hanzo’s wardrobe, grabs some of his favourite kimono and suits, some of his favourite clothes that he never wears, and Genji lays them all down before him and shoves his pants and boxers down far enough and then he sighs.

Piss flows from him and down onto the articles of clothing; he doesn’t have enough piss of course, no one does, but he’s still able to get small splatters of urine onto his brother’s clothes and Genji tucks himself back in and wipes his hands clean using the clean part of one of Hanzo’s shirts. He grabs at some of the books Hanzo likes to read and tears the pages out and throws them onto the urine-soaked clothes as well.

He doesn’t know why he is doing this. His body is moving on its own and, just like every other impulsive moment, his mind is shut. He can’t really explain to anyone why it is that he is doing this, but all he knows is that he wants to destroy Hanzo’s possessions more. He wants to break and tear apart every single part of Hanzo in his objects.

But there isn’t anything else left to ruin. Hanzo is a man of very little possessions. Genji slips away and out of his room and waits, patiently, for the moment in which Hanzo will return to his room and begin shrieking in horror at what has happened.

Genji is sure that Hanzo will know who the culprit is as well.

[And they both know father won’t believe him.]

* * *

“Are you ever going to make me execute someone?”

The companionable silence that Hanzo, Genji and Sojiro have all been sitting in seems to suddenly break the moment those words leave him. Sojiro looks uncomfortable and Hanzo just looks away, not wanting to be the one to answer this when he has yet to be the clan head. Sojiro shifts around, eyes darting between Hanzo and Genji before he clears his throat. “There’s no need for you to do that.” Sojiro reassures and something in Hanzo seems to switch.

A tightness that spreads throughout his body; veins popping up and his hands curling into tight, trembling fists atop of his knees. He can hear the way Hanzo swallows; watches the movement of his throat and he wants to tear it right off. “Hanzo is better suited to be in the clan than you are.” Sojiro attempts to placate, a smile on his face as he looks at Genji. “You can do whatever you wish to do with your future.”

How funny he says that and yet the elders hound Hanzo daily over the way Genji is able to be free. All these petty little acts of violence against his big brother who bears with them all, accepting them as his duty. Even when the scars begin to increase and the fatigue settles in deeper into this nice, hidden bones, Hanzo still carries on as the dutiful brother.

Does it hurt to hear that Genji is getting to go scot-free right in front of him? A truth that he doesn’t want to confront? “What if I don’t like that I can’t kill someone?” Genji asks after a while and Hanzo and Sojiro both look at him with wide eyes. His father is growing wary and Hanzo is now going from angry to uncomfortable; his eyes are darting around.

“What do you mean?” Hanzo is the one who asks, his father having been stunned into such a heavy silence that he refuses to even acknowledge the idea of his favourite son being not what he has expected.

Genji smiles. And he confesses.

He sees his father’s heart break right in front of him; shattering into a million pieces while Hanzo just stares at him with a quiet, dawning and horrified realisation as Genji puts into details the two he has killed and how he wishes he can get his hands on more. It is not that he has killed that unsettles them; this he knows.

It is the fact that his eyes gleam a little too brightly; a pair of molten hot things that seem to burn through them both. It is the fact that his smile is a little too wide; showing off his teeth… his sharp, sharp teeth. Shark sharp, he likes to say. It is the fact that Genji is admitting to murder of random people for the _sport_ of it.

Not even to make a point. Not even to let others know that he is to be feared. No one can trace it back to him. No. Something bubbles in his belly; foreign and uncomfortable. The joy at finally telling them mixes in with the part of him that finds this unsightly; it is one thing to kill as yakuza but another to—

It almost feels like starvation. Anxious and unhappy. He wants to vomit all over their father when he looks at Genji like he has ruined Sojiro’s world; he remains unwilling to believe that his sheltered son speaks like a brute, eager to lap at the blood flowing through veins and arteries. Hanzo just looks at him and stays in the room even after Sojiro stands and makes his silent escape.

“It… did not sicken you?” Hanzo asks hesitantly, his voice shaking near the end. Genji shakes his head and Hanzo looks down.

“I told you.” Genji says. “You’re never gonna be my equal. You couldn’t handle killing someone else without vomiting. You’ll never beat me in a fight. You’ll never be better than me.” It is when Hanzo is about to respond that Genji lurches forward and grabs onto his kimono to force a kiss onto those dry, small lips.

Silence. Pin-drop silence while Hanzo is wide-eyed staring into Genji. His lips are chapped; he can feel the flaky skin pressing against Genji’s. His breath smells like fish and Genji backs away from Hanzo, just to stare at his poor brother trying to find the words to bite back against what he has done just now. “Pretty.” The word falls from Genji’s lips without his meaning to and Hanzo stares back at him.

“Anija,” Genji begins when the silence stretches out, “I wish, I wish…” he reaches out for Hanzo and he bolts back away from Genji. Something in him snaps. He pounces forward, tries to tackle Hanzo down to the ground only for his brother to elbow him in his stomach and force him away. “I wish you’d…”

Hanzo stands up then. Looks down at him with contempt and uncertainty in his eyes. Definitely… definitely… definitely handsome when he is angry. He is so very beautiful. Genji wants to kill him just so that he can turn his body into plastic and never lose him. He looks up at Hanzo from where he is lying on the ground, looking probably pathetic from that perspective.

“What has happened to you?” Hanzo asks finally, his voice strained. “How could this have happened?” he backs away and out of the room and makes his escape as well, leaving Genji to his lonesome.

* * *

Life has become a morbid fantasy almost. He wonders out with purpose this time; smiles at his friends with teeth showing, he has tried his hardest this time. He looks wonderful; a dream, a mysterious demon who has come to busy himself and devour before he slips away. His heart is slamming against his chest, rattling his ribcage practically and Genji lets out a huff of air at the tightness that gathers in his heart.

He is looking for a specific type of person now. Long, black hair. Dark, brown eyes. Blue is a bonus. A big bonus. There are so many long, black-haired women and less men. It is a bit disappointing… no, _very_ disappointing actually. He spends an hour, maybe longer, in the club until he finds someone who suits his taste. He slides off of his bar stool, a drink in his hand and his charm on.

A smile spreads on his lips as he finds the guy, reaches out and grabs his shoulder to turn him around and talk… only for him to step when he finds himself face to face with a wide-eyed Hanzo. They stare at each other, his mouth gaping and open and Hanzo stares back at him with growing realisation as to what their situation is right now.

“Anija?” Genji asks, his voice high-pitched and far too excited and Hanzo’s eyes dart around. He grabs Genji’s elbow and begins to yank him away, past all the writhing and bouncing bodies. The smell of sweat and neon is overwhelming; his eyes seeing spots once they are outside of the bouncing, screeching atmosphere of the club. “What are you doing here?”

Hanzo doesn’t say anything; anger seems to radiate from him. Built-up frustration and aggression and Genji lets free shrieking laughter as Hanzo’s fist collides into his left cheek and leaves him stumbling, giggling and curled over with a hand pressed against his mouth. The glass in his hand drops and shatters into a million little pieces, alcohol puddling out on the dirty floor beneath them yet it is almost impossible to see.

It feels good to be hit by his brother. Genji looks up at Hanzo, still bent over, and his hand falls from his mouth so that he can show off his pearly-white teeth as his mouth curls upwards into a large, open grin. Hanzo seems to flinch at that and he reaches down and yanks Genji up into a stand and he has to look down at Hanzo. “Anija!” Genji says, gleeful, too gleeful, and Hanzo’s fist lands square on his nose. He can feel it break, crooking the wrong way, and Genji backs away and presses his hands against his nose and continues his squealing laughter. He sounds like a baby pig, yet Genji can’t bring himself to even be the least bit embarrassed about it.

He looks at Hanzo with wide eyes and his chest rises and falls rapidly with the laughter; the pain is almost negligible to Genji. All he cares about is the fact that his brother is at a club. That he is wearing tight clothing, fishnet; trying to seduce someone. Wanting to get fucked. “Anija, anija, anija!” Genji cries out, a mantra, and Hanzo’s expression twists even further into ugly, misplaced anger. “You’re here to get fucked, anijaaaaa!”

“Shut up!” Hanzo yells out, his voice cracking from the pure anger of it all. He grabs at Genji’s collar and yanks him down, their faces so close that they can taste each other’s breath and Genji shudders; he wants to taste Hanzo’s lips. They look nicer today. Shiny. Gleaming with something… lip gloss? Is his big brother wearing lip gloss?

“What is wrong with you?” Hanzo hisses out. “Why are you acting like this? What has caused you to change like this?” Genji twitches. He wants to answer; he feels like he knows why. He needs to tell Hanzo. But he just stays quiet and twitches, breathes in and out shakily while Hanzo stares at him, through him, with eyes wide with anger and hatred and whatever love that he has had for Genji now slowly slipping away.

His eyes are so glossy; he looks like he is about to cry. Genji really should try and comfort Hanzo, tell him that everything is fine. That he hasn’t changed; wants to tell him an obvious lie that will only make Hanzo angrier and angrier just so that he can see what it will be like when he finally snaps and breaks apart.

Every part of Hanzo… he wants to break apart every part of Hanzo until there is nothing left of him. A fist slams into his stomach and he spits out blood, curls over and presses his hands down on where Hanzo has punched him, and he stumbles back while Hanzo is just standing there and trembling. “What is wrong with you!? Fight back! Punch me! Do something, you masochistic, sociopathic bastard child!”

Genji just smiles and lets Hanzo land another punch on his face; his balance is already toppling and he falls down on his side on the ground, on the dirty floor, and something nasty curls up in his belly. Hanzo is about to say something, mouth opening wide, before his eyes fall on Genji’s bulge and he falters. “You’re… you’re _horrific._ Why would I ever want to be equals with you?” Hanzo says.

He looks up at Hanzo, his face a mess of bruises from all the punches and Genji keeps smiling even through all the pain. “Because _daddy_ will never love you like he loves me, isn’t that right?”

In front of him, Hanzo’s expression breaks and his heart shatters with the glass on the floor.

* * *

Father is found dead in the morning. Two days after he has ran into Hanzo into the club, Genji is the one who has snuck into his father’s room and killed him. He thinks about Hanzo’s expression as he does the dirty deed; he thinks about the way his expression falls into that of tragedy at the realisation that the scumbag Genji will get more love from their father than he ever will.

He thinks of how Hanzo helps him stand up and then yells at him to go home. He thinks of how Hanzo retreats into the club to finish up his original plan to get fucked. And Genji thinks of how he has slinked back home and has passed by their father’s room and how he has withheld the urge to kill him then.

Even if Genji is telling Hanzo the truth, it hurts him to know that his brother does everything desperately for Sojiro – the father who will never love Hanzo as much as he desires it. Mother is dead and Genji misses her; Sojiro has never been happy while she is alive. She has once held closer to her heart the value of what it means to be a Shimada; after all, she is one, and Sojiro is just an outsider. He misses her.

She has never once treated their father nicely and now she rests comfortably in Hell, where the other demons have accepted her. Genji stares at their father’s door. Not tonight. Not tonight, he tells himself. He has better things to take care of. Fantasies that spring as he thinks of Hanzo’s fist on him and he has to hold back the hysterical laughter again.

Sweat makes his clothes stick to him uncomfortably so once he is back at his room and he has to peel them off; a sticky, scratchy sound following the removal of his clothes as Genji throws the soaked leather away and into a corner of his room. He is filthy with sweat, grimy, and he twitches. A part of him wishes that blood has soaked into him; someone else’s.

And now, they have; Sojiro’s body is a mangled mess. The dragons have run through him, tearing apart whatever they can sink their claws into, and no one wants to bring up the fact that it is clear that Genji has killed him. He walks in to the meeting hoping to talk about what has happened to Sojiro while wearing the blood-stained training outfit that he has worn last night and they all go silent.

Hanzo looks at him with wide eyes, mouth in an open-mouthed frown and teeth gritting as his entire body shakes from the urge to not fly at Genji and beat him to death. He smiles and spreads his arms, shrugs, and tilts his head to the side as everyone stares at him. “Father’s dead.” Genji sings. “I guess we have to choose a new clan head now.”

He smiles down at his brother. The hatred in those glaring eyes makes his insides squirm, arousal making his cock stir in his briefs and Genji inhales sharply. This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all. But still he can’t help but keep smiling even as he turns on his heel and makes his leave, a skip in his step that the elders try their best to ignore.

This can only mean one thing. Hanzo is going to have to execute Genji, he will win, and then he will kill himself just to bring Hanzo apart even further. The ‘him’ who still has parts of Hanzo’s love in him, the ‘him’ who Hanzo cannot hate no matter how foul Genji has become… the ‘him’ who still loves his brother and begs for this all to end.

That ‘him’ will die, and Hanzo will finally break all apart with that, and then there will be nothing left.

 

 

[For whatever reason, Genji can’t stop crying once he is back in his own room.]

**Author's Note:**

> [ My tumblr. ](https://www.starrelia.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Edit: The breaking things apart is a reference to a vocaloid song of the same name or at least idea.


End file.
